In Which Sam is Sammy
by DisenchantedDestroya
Summary: Dean's antics take their toll on Sammy, leaving Dean to pick up the pieces. Teenage Winchesters. Not Wincest, unless you really, really want it to be. Edited because of line-break issues.


Sam was scared.

Terrified.

Petrified, even.

Yes; petrified would be the right word. He couldn't move, not even to run away from the imminent threat. Well, yes, physically he _could_move but there was some mental blockade creating a chain of pure fear, tying his feet to the grassy ground below.

_Ridiculous_, Sam thinks, of all of the monsters he's faced and it's a group of teenage _bullies_ who rattle him the worst.

Then again, though, he usually has Dean or his dad with him when there are monsters about.

Yeah, the idea of Dean sounds great right now. Apart from Dean's out with whatshername and Sam's supposed to be studying demon mythology or some shit like that. Apart from he's not; he's at a nearby park, trying to act like a _normal_ fifteen-year-old.

But it's almost like the other, older kids can tell that he's as far from normal as the rest of his family are.

Unsure of how to handle attacking _humans_, Sam just stares at them, blinking, swallowing down the terror as a trio of seventeen-year-olds approach, all much more muscular than Sam. One of them wielding a baseball bat. All of them wielding the same menacing smirk that makes Sam want to scream for Dean. Not that he would scream, though. Not ever.

"Look, it's the bastard's little tagalong." The one in the centre, apparently the leader, sneers. "Winchester's brat brother."

Sam wants to dispute both the claim of him being a 'brat' and being Dean's 'tagalong' but the words evaporate in his throat, leaving him staring at the group like a deer in the headlights. He tries to crack his knuckles in a threatening manner but the joints won't click and all he gets for it is an aching finger.

The group laugh and encircle him, making Sam feel ever so small. Making him feel less like Sam and more like Sammy, the little kid who still needs his big brother to look out for him. But Sam's not a little kid, so Dean won't ever know about this.

Not ever.

"So here's the deal, Kid." The leader speaks up again, making Sam flinch at the ferocity to the tone. Another boy spits at him and Sam is too scared to have the heart to dodge it. He feels the saliva burning at his skin, branding him a coward. "You brother's been causing quite a stir lately. Gotten into a couple of fights. Way we see it, he needs taking down a few pegs."

Sam gulps, pretty sure he knows where this is going. Shit, all he wanted was a _normal_ afternoon as a _normal_ teenager. He should have known it was too much to ask for.

"But we ain't stupid." Grunts the one holding the bat, the gruff voice forcing Sam to turn on the spot to face the most fearsome looking of the trio. "We know we won't beat him and get away without a scratch."

Without so much as a warning, the bat slams into Sam's stomach.

Again.

And again.

And _again_.

* * *

"Yo, Sammy, I'm back." Dean calls out into the eerily silent motel room. It's only six-ish, the afternoon's sky tinged with twilight, so the room shouldn't be this quiet. Or dark. "Sammy?"

Dean's got a brown paper bag tucked in the crook of his elbow; dinner. He's got them a burger each, even though he knows Sam would probably prefer salad, because he swears that kid is getting too _damn_ skinny.

He locks the rotting door behind him, looking into the black-cloaked room. The curtains are drawn shut and the lights switched off, leaving Dean all but blind in the cramped motel room. It makes him uneasy, not being able to see his baby brother. But then he hears soft breathing from the other side of the room and he releases his own breath, held in fear of a hurt brother.

He tiptoes over to the bed and is just able to see the outline of Sammy lying face down on the rigid mattress, blanket pulled up to his neck. Dean can't help but smile.

Recently he's been worried that Sammy's been getting too old too quick, becoming way too sensible and mature for a teenage boy. He's noticed bags under his little brother's eyes, the calculations constantly in his pupils. Everything screaming at him that his baby brother is no longer a baby before his time. But seeing Sam like this, like _Sammy_, all peaceful and asleep, it lays all of his fears to rest.

Although Dean would never admit it to him out loud, Sam is his world and he doesn't _ever_ want to lose that. And he'd like to think that Sam feels the same way about him.

He runs a hand through Sammy's hair, quickly pulling it away when it makes the younger stir in his sleep. Dean knows that sleep is something that his brother's been finding scarce lately and he'll be damned if he's going to ruin his current restful slumber.

So he flops down onto the opposite bed, deciding that he'll have to take one for the team and eat Sam's burger too. He thinks he'll probably have an early night too, but that he'll take advantage of the situation and watch Sammy sleep for a while, take in his baby brother's innocence and childishness whilst he still can. Then maybe tease him about it come morning.

"Study too hard, Buddy?" He whispers, hating the silence of the room. He'd much rather have Sammy away in dreamland than exhausted though. "Yeah, you've always been a damn hard worker. Swear you might even be smarter than Dad, y'know." Dean chuckles to himself, remembering a time when Sam had asked their father to check over his homework on binomial distribution and their father instead received a math lesson from Sammy himself. "Way smarter than me, anyways."

Dean takes a bite of the burger, humming Metallica melodies thoughtfully. Of course he knows, academically anyway, that Sam is smarter than him. He'd just never admit it to an awake Sammy. It makes him proud though, how his little baby brother who he must always protect is the brainbox of the family.

Hell, the kid had even talked about going to college. Dean doesn't want that though. No. He needs Sammy right be his side. _Always_.

"Don't mean I'm not gonna protect you forever though, Sammy-boy."

Maybe if Dean knew that Sam was, in actual fact, wide awake, he wouldn't be saying such things.

* * *

It's well after midnight when Dean finally goes to sleep, too tired to further reminisce of times when his brother had worshiped the very ground he walked on and treated him as Dean used to treat their father; like a _superhero_.

Sam, settled by the sound of Dean's gentle snoring, rolls over to face the peeling ceiling. He lets out a silenced sigh, relief flooding him as the weight is removed from his battered stomach. It's dark, oh so dark, but Sam can still make out the dark red stain on his pillow courtesy of his smashed nose. Everything hurts, from his pounding head to his swollen ankle, but he refuses to cry. Not whilst Dean might hear.

So Sam shuts his eyes, willing for all of his wounds to miraculously heal overnight.

Of course he knows that this won't happen, not only because it's biologically impossible but because his _awful_ luck would never allow it, and an uneasy feeling of nerves erupts in his stomach. He knows he can't hide under the covers forever, that Dean will see his wounds come the morning and that Dean will be upset by it in some way or another.

Sam's not sure what he fears more; Dean being saddened by his brother's injured state or Dean being disappointed in him for not defending himself properly. Both options make Sam feel even more afraid than he ever was of the bullies.

He wants nothing more than to wake up Dean and show him where it hurts, get him to take care of him just like when they were little kids. But they're both grown-ups now.

He briefly wonders what it would be like to have a mom to kiss his cuts better, to hug his bruises and fears away in equal measure.

Well, Sam thinks, this is going to be a long night, blinking back tears.

* * *

Dean wakes up to the sound of crying. Not so much 'wakes up' as much as springs to life and straight into overprotective-big-brother-mode.

He springs from his bed and slams on the dim light of the motel room, nothing more than a bulb on a wire, glancing around the room with a hunter's analysing gaze. He sees nothing, but that's just the problem; the room is full of _nothing_.

Not even a Sammy.

The bed is empty, the covers kicked back and it makes Dean's heart _race_. He sprints to the bed and throws the bedding around, as though his twig of a brother could be hidden in his entirety behind the too-small pillows. Needless to say, he isn't.

Dean wants to punch something, wondering how on earth his brother disappeared without waking him up. But then the crying becomes audible again in the form of a sob, coming from behind the bathroom door. Swallowing down the worry and trying to put on his usual 'cool as a cucumber' front, Dean pushes on the scratched-up door.

Thank fuck, he thinks, it opens.

Oh fuck, he thinks, Sam's hurt.

Because there's Sam, curled up on the harsh coldness of the grotty tiles, knees bought up to his chest and his head buried in his knees. Sobbing. Dean can see the rash of bruises on his arms though, the bloody bump erupting from his head, the purplish colouring to his ankle.

"Sammy?" He squeaks, hating himself for sounding so weak; his brother needs him to be _strong_ right now. "What's going on?"

Sam looks up and _son of a bitch!_

Sam's left eye, once so full of childish hope, is surrounded by bluey-black, signalling a vicious bruise. His nose is caked in blood and Dean thinks it looks broken, but that could just be his protectiveness making it look worse than it actually is. He doesn't care though, because it's making his baby brother _cry_.

He's on his knees next to him in seconds, taking note of how Sam looks so damn ashamed of himself. Also taking note of how Sam is still wearing the clothes he went out in. And how they're torn, bloody.

"What's going on here, Sammy?"

Hating himself for it, for the weakness of it, Sam catapults himself into Dean, wrapping his arms around his big brother as though his brother is the only thing stopping him from being washed away by the storm of life. Not sure what else to do, Dean hugs him back. He's not normally the hugging type, but he can tell his baby brother needs it right now and he'd rather die than deny _his_ Sammy what he needs.

"Dean." The younger brother mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of the addressed brother's black top. "Dean. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You ain't done nothing wrong." Dean whispers, not giving a flying fuck that he sounds as heartbroken as he feels. He thinks that Sammy needs to hear how much he cares right now. "But you've gotta tell me what happened and where it hurts so I can make it all better, 'kay?"

Sam feels like a little kid again, like _Sammy_ again, and he doesn't find as hard as he thought he would. In fact, it's the most comforting feeling he's had in God knows how long. If God even exists, that is.

Sam spares a moment to wonder what their dad will do if he gets back from hunting and he's still all beaten-up. He somehow doubts he'll be as lenient as Dean.

The brothers' eyes lock and Sam knows right then that Dean will never let anything like this happen to him ever again. Thank fuck. Sam doubts he could take another beating like that. Not for a long while, anyway.

"Bullies." He mumbles, no longer ashamed because Dean looks like he wants to kill whatever did this with his bare hands and that must mean that it's not Sam's fault, right? "Bullies with a baseball bat."

Dean feels sick.

"Three of 'em." Sam stutters, hiding his face into Dean's chest. He knows Dean is worried about him when he doesn't push the younger away. "Seventeen, I think."

So not only were they armed, but they were older and outnumbered Sammy too. Dean wants to hunt the fuckers down and tear them limb from limb. He wants to hurt them more than he's ever wanted to hurt any demon. The desire is supressed though because right now it's what Sammy wants that matters; right now Sammy wants comfort.

The older clutches the baby of the pair tightly, ever mindful of the injuries, and presses a kiss to his forehead. He's worried he's not doing the right thing but when Sammy's tears slide to a halt he thinks he must be doing at least _something_ right.

"You need me to look you over?" Sam shakes his head, confident enough in his own first aid skills to go without the humiliation of his big brother seeing his tattered torso. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I've sorted it all out." His nose twinges and he hisses, making Dean all but have a heart attack. "Nose stings like a bitch though."

"Hey, mind your damn language." Dean scolds, throwing in a wink so Sammy knows he isn't really in trouble. "Let me take a look at that."

Without waiting for a response, Dean has his hand gently examining the nose. Wincing, he wonders if his baby brother had screamed when the fist hit it. Or the baseball bat.

No, Sammy wouldn't have screamed.

Dean can just tell. And that makes him hate those _bastards_ even more. Especially because he can tell Sammy wouldn't have fought back. If he had, to the best of his ability, Sam would be sat here now without so much as a scratch.

"I don't think it's broken, but Dad'll have to look at it when he gets back just in case." Noticing Sammy's grimace, he holds him by the shoulders at arms' length, his heart twitching at the fear in his brother's eyes. "Hey, smile, Sammy." He doesn't; he bites down on his lip, eyes watering dangerously. That's all it takes for Dean to pull him back in for a hug. "He won't be mad, Kiddo. I won't let him be. And he wouldn't be anyway. Just real pissed at the sons of bitches who did this. Like I am. We love you."

There is only sincerity in Dean's tone and it makes Sam shake with emotion, makes him cling to Dean tighter without thinking of how childish the action may be. It makes Dean smile, in a bittersweet kind of way, that his brother is still up for cuddles despite his age.

But it also makes Dean sadden, darken, knowing that Sammy wouldn't act like this normally and that the attack must have really shaken him up.

"You're okay now, Sammy." He whispers, stroking his brother's back in what he hopes is a comforting motion. "I'm here."

"I'm sorry."

The two words make Dean's ears _burn_. Here's his kid brother, beaten half to death, goddamn apologising. It makes him want to slap a bitch. Instead he settles for pressing another kiss to Sammy's clammy forehead. Poor kid.

"No." Dean blinks, vigorously denying to himself that he's close to tears at seeing his brother so broken. "_I'm_ sorry. Sorry that you couldn't tell me you're hurt earlier."

Sammy flinches, making Dean almost regret his words. He doesn't though, because he needs to know why he came back to silence, to Sam pretending to be alright. He needs to know where he went wrong, what he's done to make Sammy not trust him. Or even worse, what he's done to make Sammy think it's not okay to ask him for help.

That last thought hits him like a punch to the gut. He's only ever tried to protect Sammy and this is where it's got him. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Didn't want you to be ashamed of me." Sam stutters as though it's the most obvious thing in the world; it's that fact that makes Dean hate himself that little bit more. "Are you?"

Sam's eyes are huge and watery, begging for the right answer.

"_What?_" Dean's voice is brimming with hurt, tone taught with agony. "No. Shit, of course not, Sammy." He closes his eyes, searching for the right words to say. "I know I'm not so good with words, Kiddo, but I'm gonna try to explain something to you right now." Sam nods, exhausted eyes glued to his older brother in earnest anticipation and, Dean hates to see it, fear. "I'm your big brother. You're my baby brother."

"Not a baby."

Dean chuckles, back (kinda) in his comfort zone. He's hunted demons of all shades of evil but still nothing scares the shit out of him more than seeing his _baby_ brother upset or hurt or frightened. Or, in this case, all three.

"Well, you'll always be a baby to me, Bro." Sam half-heartedly sticks his tongue out and Dean does the same back. "And that's why I'll always love you and protect you and do all that big brother bullshit."

Feeling much more like himself, Sammy giggles. It warms Dean's heart and makes him feel that it's alright to release his grip on his brother. He doesn't want to but he knows that if he doesn't this will soon turn into a dreaded chick-flic moment. If it hasn't already.

"Real sentimental, Dean."

The teasing isn't there but that's okay. It's Sammy showing Dean that he understands. That he gets it. And, for both brothers, that's more than enough.

"Whatever, Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

**A/N: **So, this is my first adventure into the Supernatural fandom. And I am terrified, so please don't flame me! I've only just gotten into the show, so I sincerely apologize if this is beyond crap.

Thank you very, very much for reading and please let me know what you think!


End file.
